Bring Me To Life
by Dark Eyed Seer
Summary: SLASH! A chunk of book five weirdness that wouldn't let me sleep until I typed it all out. Will probably have a sequel. Contains past Harry/Oliver, past Harry/Cedric and possible future Harry/Severus.


When asked after the event, Severus insisted he was blinded by rage at the sight of Harry Potter at the mouth of his pensieve sent him over the edge.

It did not excuse his actions, but he wasn't even seeking forgiveness, feeling himself utterly beyond it.

He had grabbed the boy by the shoulders and cast Legilimens with such a vindictive force he'd broken the blood vessels in the whites of Harry's eyes.

He'd wanted to find something to humiliate the boy beyond measure. He forced his way through the boy's mind, seeking anything involving his rapidly growing sexual awareness.

He expected to find maybe a fumbling snog with Granger in a broom closet, perhaps even some naughty touching with the Weasley boy. And, most likely, a great deal of wanking.

He was expecting nothing like what he stumbled across.

I am/ Harry is thirteen years old. It's mid-October and I am/Harry is still chilled from the crisp breeze on the Quidditch pitch. I am/ He is eager to get under the hot shower spray. The rest of the team seems to have left already while I/ Harry had been doing some last minute laps.

I/ He stripped down to my/his underpants hearing the slap of bare feet behind me/him.

It's Oliver Wood. He's just from the shower by the look of him and his wearing only a towel around his waist.

I am/ Harry is uncomfortably aware of Oliver, he is older and quite attractive. I'm/ Harry's not sure exactly why this is so embarrassing. I/ He thought he might possibly like boys the way other boys like girls. I/ He worries about this sometimes in the long, dark hours he lies awake after the nightmares.

Oliver is talking about Seeking and for once I/ Harry can't keep track of what he's saying. But he stops talking about it after awhile and starts talking about me/Harry. I/Harry find this strange because Oliver never talks about anything but Quidditch.

But now he's talking about the way I am/Harry is on a broomstick.

And now he isn't wearing a towel anymore.

Suddenly the intensity of the situation made the distance between the boy's mind and his close in until they were almost fused as one.

The whole world went away because Oliver was kissing him. It was very warm and wet and he hadn't realised this, but his tongue and his penis were somehow connected.

He was wrapping his arms around the larger boy before he even knew he was doing it. Oliver's hands were everywhere and he felt an absurd urge to blurt out, 'Russian hands and Roman fingers!'

Then the roaming hands are on the waist band on his boxer-briefs and there is not so much humour in the situation as a sudden desperate, blind need. Oliver's fingers slip in and slide the fabric down off his slim hips.

There is a brief moment of dancing from foot to foot untangling them. Then Oliver's picking him up. He is kissed soundly and carried into the hot, steamy shower room.

Oliver lays him out on a towel spread over the bench in the center of the showers. There is a bright thrill when he realises Oliver must have planned this.

The older boy stands before him looking a bit nervous now that is quarry is secured. Oliver is older and definitely more… developed. He discovers a new side to himself that is really enjoying this fact. Steeling himself, he reaches out a tentative hand and traces the head of the seventh year's erection, feeling dampness at the tip. Oliver sucks in an audible breath and lets out a strangled sort of moan.

He, with his pulse pounding in his ears, shocked at his own daring, places the finger in his mouth and licks off the bead of collected fluid. It tastes surprisingly salty, but not nearly as bad as he thought it might.

This last act overwhelms Oliver and he is pressed down with the Keeper's considerably heavier weight. And this is fantastic.

There is a great deal more kissing and Oliver seems devoted to bathing his neck with his tongue. But the really lovely thing is the friction between them. Sensation arches up his spine and neither of them last long.

Oliver collapses on him, a warm and welcome weight still. Dark spots are still fading from his vision. He is suddenly very sad that it's over. It was a bit scary at first but he wanted it to go on and on.

Oliver shifts his hips and he can see the other boy wants to ask him something.

He holds his breath and lets it out in a whoosh when Oliver invites him to his room after curfew. The seventh years had private rooms, he realises with a new found excitement.

They wash each other, it's awkward at first but soon he finds he loves Oliver's fingers in his hair, down his back, between his legs.

They both got very clean and were very late to dinner.

Oliver's room is small and blinding. He has a poster for every Quidditch team in the league and the bright combined colors are a bit much. He is grateful when Oliver dims the lights.

He lets Oliver spread his legs and slip a well lubricated finger inside him. He surprises himself with his wanton moaning for more. It is entirely involuntary.

When Oliver enters him with a maddening, slow, tenderness he feels like he might die, in a very, very good way like drowning in chocolate.

Oliver's face above him reflects surprise and an almost drugged bliss. He realises Oliver might not be as experienced as he had thought. But this is O.K.

Everything is just bloody perfect.

On and on these memories went, the two minds were now so entwined from the force of the spell they were nearly indistinguishable. In the physical world, their bodies bucked and writhed.

His hands are bracing them against the shower walls as Oliver pounds into him wild and elated. They've just won a match.

-

They're in between the stacks of the library. Oliver is wearing a very conservative brown jumper over a white dress shirt and khaki pants. He finds this incredibly attractive all at once and must have him.

They take a fantastic chance. He slips smoothly to his knees and pulls a flustered and excited Oliver out of his trousers.

He is very, very good at blow jobs.

They are not caught. Oliver wanders to dinner in a trance-like haze and he feels quite smug.

-

Oliver comes to him in the middle of the night. Harry awakes to the sound of his whispered 'Silencio'.

Slumbering year mates just on the other side of the curtain, Harry tops Oliver for the first, but most certainly not the last, time.

Afterward Oliver is oddly clingy and even more affectionate than usual. He realises he loves him, loves his puppy dog brown eyes and sweet smile. He loves the way he gets all flushed and incensed talking about Puddlemere United's chances at the finals.

He tries to tell him, but Oliver gets there first and he is so swept away he almost forgets to say it too.

No one in his entire life ever said that they loved him before.

-

Oliver's dark chocolate hair curls if he lets it get more than two inches long. This causes him no end of annoyance.

He, however, secretly delights in all its rumpled poodle glory.

-

He has learned how to squeeze just the right way and it always makes Oliver's eyes cross. Months have passed and they are now more loving and slow than fast and desperate. They have experimented a great deal. He now has a wide range of skills in his repertoire that he uses to drive Oliver mad.

When he shows Oliver the copy of 'A Wizard's Kama Sutra' he'd owl-ordered from Flourish and Blotts' the Keeper teases in his sex-rough Scottish brogue, "I think I've created a monster."

Oliver is a normally a very calm, gentle, and polite boy, which is why it's so very much fun to make him beg, writhe, curse, and bite, and then yell things in Gaelic when he comes.

Oliver has Gaelic pet names for him. When he looks up what they mean in the library one afternoon his eyes water with emotion. Hermione asks him if he needs an Allergy Potion.

He shakes his head but caresses the words on the page, feeling Oliver's skin instead of paper.

**Ta gra acam ort- I love you**

**Anamchara- soulmate/soul-friend**

**Mo chuisle- literally 'my pulse' is taken to mean 'my heart' or 'my love'.**

**Ta tu go h-alainn- You are beautiful**

**-**

For Christmas, Oliver sends him a Quidditch Weekly subscription and a carefully put together erotic scrapbook featuring a naked (and, at first, nervous looking) Oliver in various poses.

He is impressed with Oliver's boldness, and his hands-free photography skills.

But he misses the older boy fiercely when he is gone and for the first time, he gets an inkling of what it will be like after the year is over. Oliver will graduate in May.

When Oliver returns they have a passionate reunion, laying sleepy and sated in a sticky tangle, Oliver slips a silver Claddagh ring on his finger and explains what it means. He charms it to be invisible to all who don't know it to be there.

He wears it on his right hand, the heart facing inward.

-

He cries on their last night together. So does Oliver, though they had both been trying not to. It is bittersweet and he feels as though one touch too roughly will shatter him completely.

Fortunately, Oliver knows to touch gently.

Oliver tells him he can take off his ring.

But he never, ever does.

He is fourteen years old and three years too young to be chosen by the Goblet of Fire.

He has out flown a dragon and still has two equally deadly tasks ahead. His triumph is tainted by this and the great golden egg in his possession.

Oliver's absence is particularly brutally felt that night.

On his way back to Gryffindor Tower, Cedric Diggory stops him wanting to talk. Diggory slips into an unused classroom nearby and he follows.

Cedric babbles on for a few minutes about how grateful he is for how fair the other boy is being, making sure he knew about the First Task when everyone else did.

The older boy goes on for such and length and is so flustered, he immediately becomes suspicious. Mindful of Moody's warning of 'constant vigilance' he studies the larger boy carefully.

There is a certain nervous twitch about Cedric's mouth and he refuses to meet his eyes.

He shakes Cedric's hand and finally catches his gaze.

He is floored by the mixture of lust and shame he sees in it. Cedric seems to have figured out that he knows because the Hufflepuff bursts out, "I know! I know I- I'm sorry! Please don't tell anyone! I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

He shuts him up with a kiss.

-

Cedric is all trembling eagerness and fearful looks. He makes up for his lack of finesse with enthusiasm.

He tells him to wait and retrieves his invisibility cloak from the Tower. Cedric is amazed by the cloak and keeps checking if he is still there until he bursts out in amused annoyance, "Bloody Hell, Cedric, I'm not going anywhere. Hurry up!"

Cedric leads the way through the obstacle course that is the Hufflepuff common room. He feels an odd kinship with the older boy when so many way-layers attempt to get him to stop and chat.

But Cedric is single-minded in a way that makes his pants tighter.

He slides in smoothly behind Cedric and the door is locked, warded and silenced in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, for all his bravado, now that they are here and alone, Cedric seems to wilt.

He solves this by getting naked. And then by getting Cedric naked.

Taking charge, he nudges Cedric down on the bed and puts his considerable oral talents to work.

Once the initial edge is off, the older boy seems a bit calmer. He supposed that actually having done something made doing other things easier as well.

He feels guilty for comparing his lovers but can't help doing it anyway.

-

Cedric is much more concerned with doing traditional things than Oliver ever was. Even though their relationship is an absolute secret, Cedric still wants dates of a kind.

The house elves are very good at keeping secrets and can create a romantic dinner and setting at the drop of a hat.

At the Yule ball both boys take turns feeling jealous about the other's date. But as the evening progresses, Cedric finds more and more excuses to be near him. Then when he almost can't stand it anymore, he slips away.

The roof is untouched, the virgin snow crunches under their feet. He can hear the music from inside loud and clear from the open windows of the Great Hall. He stands, arms spread, feeling the wind push and pull at him. Cedric comes up behind him and slowly slides his big hands down the backs of the slender arms before him until hands meet hands and their fingers are intertwined.

Cedric pulls him into a dance and he's surprised to find he really enjoys it with the right partner.

New snow begins to fall as they waltz around the skylight, careful not to be seen.

Finally the cold forces them inside, but then there's Cedric's room and his bed. They warm each other up wonderfully.

When Cedric stopped him in the hall, he couldn't believe his nerve. Up until that point Cedric had been carefully to avoid obviously talking to him in public.

The older boy's words about the prefect bath make paying attention in Charms especially difficult.

He does bring the egg and the purest of intentions to work out its secret.

When Cedric joins him fifteen minutes later and remarks, "I wanted to give you enough time to figure it out yourself but I just couldn't wait," he replies unthinkingly:

"Oh, that's O.K. I've already figured it out."

He realises the other boy is embarrassed at how long it took him and tries to salvage the situation, "But I have no idea how I'm supposed to survive under water for an hour."

Cedric looked relieved he wasn't ahead in that as well.

Then the tournament was promptly forgotten because a wet, naked Cedric was pulling him into his lap.

He decides not to bring up Moaning Myrtle; Cedric is a bashful sort and might go off shagging for the night. He hopes she has the sense at least to remain undetected.

-

He is in love with Cedric Diggory. He first realises this when they are out flying on Valentine's Day. New snow covers the landscape but the late afternoon sky is clear. Cedric is illuminated by the rays of sunset.

There is a light in Cedric's eyes that he has never seen in another person.

This time, he says it first and Cedric kisses him furiously after.

-

Cedric worries about his father finding out. Amos Diggory is a proud man with serious personal investment in his son.

He assures Cedric he will never tell over and over. He is good at keeping secrets, not even Ron and Hermione know about Oliver. Cedric still doesn't know about Oliver.

Oliver told him to move on and he has. But Cedric is even more complicated. With Oliver the issue was the age gap, he had been thirteen and Oliver seventeen. The Quidditch Captain was worried about how that might look.

When he had asked Oliver why he hadn't chosen someone older, the larger boy laughed at him, "Choose? I never had a choice, mo chuisle. I was always yours."

So with Oliver, it was really just a matter of time. In their twenties a four year age difference wouldn't matter.

But Cedric didn't want his sexuality known at all because it might get back to his father. So even if the older boy did take that apprenticeship in Hogsmeade to stay close they would still have to hide everything.

He was thoroughly sick of hiding everything.

-

"When I heard they took someone from me, someone I'd most miss… I'm so very glad you're also a champion, did I tell you that?" Cedric punctuated every word with a kiss.

"Guess they must put it in the rules that the other champions be exempt."

"Well, it would be awfully hard to compete while unconscious on the bottom of the lake." He remarks, teasingly.

Cedric flushes darker but grins at his own slow-wittedness. He kisses that grin, loving the feel of it. Cedric tastes of Butterbeer and chocolate treacle tart, two of his favourite things.

Later, after much thrusting and orgasmic bliss, Cedric looks at him with an expression he's never seen before, "So, Ron Weasley? I really hope I was at least your first choice."

Is Cedric jealous? The idea is so exotic to him he can't speak for a moment. He is so very glad Oliver hadn't ended up with the merfolk. How did the choosing go, anyway? Was there a spell that magically told them who you'd miss most? Or did they just guess based on what they thought they knew about you?

He hoped they just guessed. He feels a bit jealous himself all of a sudden, thinking of pretty Cho Chang.

"I think I have a bit more to worry about, don't you think? Ron Weasley is as straight as a flagpole; even if I did fancy him- which I don't! - I'd need to rather inconveniently change genders to shag him. Now, Cho Chang on the other hand, fancies you AND she's older and prettier-"

"You're much prettier than she is." Cedric breaks in.

He briefly allows himself to be distracted by how much hearing that pleases him.

"Nonetheless, obviously a better choice. Unless you're father is a racist or something."

Cedric sighs, "No, obviously NOT a better choice seeing as I don't fancy girls and I'm in love with YOU! My father isn't a racist. Or a homophobe either, really. He just has… certain expectations of me. Anyway, you're right. The way the 'things we'd most miss' are chosen is obviously complete bollocks. If it wasn't you it should have been Elsie Winehouse, she's been my best friend since we were six."

He spares a small prayer of thanks to the heavens that Elsie Winehouse is both at a different school and, he's fairly certain from the things Cedric has told him about her, a lesbian.

-

Cedric's dark blonde hair is bleached by the sun in streaks. He examines these while catching his breath.

"They're going to be calling us any minute." Cedric remarks, his voice shakes a bit.

The Third and Final Task is twenty minutes away.

-

In a flash of green, his world is gone.

In a life filled with pain, there has never been pain like this.

Cedric's eyes have no light in them now. They're just blank pools of blue. Flat like stone.

-

He feels as though he's always breathing through a straw, he can never quite get enough air.

On several occasions in his young life he has lost a considerable amount of blood. And that's exactly what living feels like now. Like bleeding to death but not dying.

He can't make anyone understand why he can't smile at them, why he can't laugh anymore. Part of him wanted to be expelled, wanted to turn himself into some violent rogue wizard. Find justice somewhere since it certainly wasn't in a Ministry trial.

He can't express his rage and he can't quite contain it either. He keeps hurting his friends and late at night cries about _that _as well. He's so sorry but he's broken and he can't even tell them why.

Because Cedric Diggory must be remembered as a good little straight boy, he would make sure of that. Amos already had enough to cry about.

He doesn't sleep much anymore. Voldemort creeps his way into his dreams.

He doesn't eat much either.

His skin has gone almost translucent and there are bruise-coloured smudges around his eyes.

You can count his ribs and he notices Ron staring at this and wants to make some teasing remark about voyeurism. But it sticks in his throat.

Ron and Hermione mostly stick together now. And that is the way it should be. Everyone should get as far away from him as possible. He's dangerous to be around. But he misses them anyway.

Some nights he tortures himself remembering. Cedric had accepted the apprenticeship and even found a small flat in Hogsmeade. They'd christened it. Twice.

Cedric wasn't like Oliver, he didn't have a big Quidditch career and he could afford to stay close by.

But now he's dead.

And there will be no more snogging under the Quidditch stands or secret notes and love tokens. There is no more love, happiness, peace, pleasure, joy, anything. Cedric took it all with him.

When he hears The Weird Sisters on the Wizarding Wireless he has to go off and cry every time. He can see Cedric in the anaemic wash of moonlight. It turns his hair silver like Draco Malfoy's.

He can hear Cedric singing along softly, breathing the words into his ear.

Cedric had a pop star smooth voice to go with his pop star good looks.

The softly lilting voice and the lyrics it sings haunt him when he's alone and it's quiet.

"_I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh._

_I want to hold you high and steal your pain._

_I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well_

_I want to hold you high and steal your pain."_

When he regained consciousness, Severus Snape tried to assess the damage without moving. Two years of vigorous sex in the space of a few hours had left him raw and aching. He was amazed at the extent that being in Potter's mind had affected him physically.

His face was stiff with dried tears. His pants were stiff with dried semen.

In a lifetime of bad decisions, this had to have been one of the worst.

He jerked up suddenly, "Potter!"

It hurt to speak, as though he had been screaming. There was no response but Snape could see him crumpled close by.

The thoughts that he could have killed the boy, damaged his brain, or drove him insane all announced themselves. But he was breathing, Severus could see him breathing.

His own horror hits him then. What has he done?

"What have I done?" He startles himself by speaking aloud.


End file.
